


Closeted (English Version)

by kirin_calls



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Groping, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirin_calls/pseuds/kirin_calls
Summary: John is searching for clues concerning Irene Adler's plans. He doesn’t want to get caught in the attempt, so he hides, only to realise someone has had the same idea he did.





	Closeted (English Version)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MagdaTheMagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/gifts).



> This oneshot was created under the keyword "Mound of Venus"... and is still M/M despite it :p
> 
> My thanks for the translation go to the lovely [MagdaTheMagpie!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie)  
> After she offered to translate this little story the title was changed once again to a much more fitting one, and also the last sentence was adapted! ^^v
> 
> +++
> 
> German version: [Closeted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4589319) (war: Ermittlungen)

John muttered to himself in annoyance. He didn’t want to do this. He had no qualms interviewing people, sneaking into high-security structures, resolving cases, clearing up murders and occasionally saving Sherlock's ass, but _this_... this was not his job. His fingers nervously slid over and between lace, silk, satin, push-up bras and garters, nylon as well as... latex and leather. He swallowed, pushed the drawer closed again.

The one beneath wasn’t much different. Or maybe it was. There was far less silk in it and a lot more leather. And handcuffs. Feet and neck shackles, whips, paddles. Overwhelmed, John pursed his lips. No, he wouldn’t find any clues here. At least none that would help them at the moment.

Irene Adler's new shelter was less ostentatious than the last. Her belongings seemed less harmonized, less organized. Lingerie and works tools together in the same drawers? Well, John couldn’t say with certainty if it was for private use or not, and he didn’t want to think too much about it. The information they were looking for wasn’t there. He rummaged around the bedroom. Next to a large bed across the window, with a nightstand on each side, stood an expansive wardrobe with several sliding doors, a vanity-topped dressing table, and the chest of drawers he was currently searching through. He opened the last drawer, paused, pushed it shut again. No, not there either. The contents of that drawer were more in the toy category and John didn’t feel up to searching through it at the moment.

He walked over to the wardrobe and opened a door at random. Shoes, nothing but shoes. He peered through the footwear, checking to see if anything unusual stood out, but was once more unsuccessful. A noise caught his attention. The front door slammed shut, footsteps echoed, the click of soles and heels on parquet. Muffled words, the dull sound of a body being knocked against a wall. John's stomach dropped. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Under no circumstance was Irene allowed to find him here, or she would know that Sherlock was hot on her heels. Turning around, he searched for a possible hiding place. Adjoining bathroom... Bad idea. Under the bed.... Judging from the sounds he had just heard, that was an even worse idea.

He jumped towards the other side of the wardrobe and pulled open the sliding door. And froze. Someone was already hiding there. Someone he knew. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade cursed under his breath and tugged on his sleeve for John to squeeze himself in the closet next to him. Just as he pulled the wardrobe’s door shut, the bedroom door opened and Irene Adler pushed her girlfriend gently but firmly into the room. She ran her thumb over the other woman's lips, smeared the red lipstick, ran her fingers over her beautiful cleavage, then Irene stepped close to her and kissed her passionately.

Everything in John's mind turned upside down. The cupboard was so crammed that it bordered on miraculous that both men found enough room to hide in it. Greg leaned against the side wall and John stood with his back to him, almost on one leg, trying to keep his balance. His shoulder rested against Greg's upper body and he didn't dare move an inch, lest he overturn something and draw attention to their presence. What the hell was Lestrade doing here? He was a cop - why hadn't he just come here with a warrant instead of hiding in the woman's wardrobe? Unless he wasn’t officially assigned to this case and was doing some investigation of his own, John thought with a mental facepalm. What the fuck is going on?

Throaty moans caught John's attention and he realised a small gap between the two wardrobe's doors made it possible to catch a glimpse of Irene Adler's bed. It was still empty at the moment. John could only hear the two women exchanging kisses and the sound of cloth sliding over skin. He suddenly remembered he wasn't alone. Greg's body was warm and he could feel the man’s racing heartbeat pounding against his shoulder. Then the DI’s scent abruptly overwhelmed him, more than he would ever admit, especially because he liked it so much.

But this was neither the place nor the time for such thoughts. His eyes darted back through the gap as he saw movement. He saw the bodies of the two women sliding over each other, intertwined over the sheet, as lips and hands took turns caressing the other's curves. On top of that, the pleasurable sounds they made, especially Irene's lover, affected him. John bit his lower lip. He should just cover his eyes and ears and think of nothing. But...

When he looked again, he saw the pelvis, the slender thighs, the curve of her smooth mound of Venus... John swallowed hard. Irene's hands slid over the lasciviously outstretched body, her red mouth wandering over the delicate skin and disappearing between her legs. The moan of the other woman echoed in his ears and loins. Then suddenly John's leg cramped and he lost his balance. Cursing silently, he bumped into Greg, whose arm shot out and clamped on John's mouth to suppress any noise.

The pain in John's calf throbbed and he didn't dare shift his weight. Therefore, he remained leaning against Greg, felt the warm breath of the other man on the back of his neck. His heartbeat quickened involuntarily, and this time, it was not because of the women as he couldn't see them from his new vantage point. The feel of the other man's body so close to his, the smell of his wonderful scent, the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck... goose bumps spread across John's back.

The hand which Greg had clamped over his mouth slackened and now lay on John's shoulder, for lack of a better place. A wave of desperation overcame John as the muscles of his new foothold began to protest. It was not a spasm and it would no doubt get better immediately if he could only move a few inches, if he could put a leg between Greg's feet and stretch his back a bit, maybe he would be able to straighten up and...

"Don’t..." Greg whispered so softly that John barely heard. Too late, he realised the reason for his objection. He was now in line with Greg so that his back inevitably pressed against him. And revealed the erection that now nestled against his butt. John swallowed.

" _Fuck_... I'm sorry..." Greg whispered, barely audible. John felt the heat rush to his face, but it didn't matter because it was too dark in the wardrobe for it to be noticed. A fact which probably didn't make Greg feel any better. The situation was extremely embarrassing, but John could hardly blame Greg, what with live porn playing out just a few feet away from them, and what they couldn't see, they could hear loud and clear. In reality, John had to admit he found the proximity to the other man just as arousing as the two women's show out there...

John felt Greg drop his forehead on his hand still holding onto John's shoulder. He felt the detective's breath accelerating. It may have been a ridiculous thought, especially given the circumstances, but John wondered if Greg might find him attractive - in a less confusing and compromising situation. There was no denying that Greg was a good-looking man, quite sexy, intelligent too... John swallowed.

These thoughts irritated him. Not the possibility of another man finding him attractive, but that he wanted it. A lot. The idea that he might have caused Greg's erection, and not the two women, caused a stir in his own loins that he would not have thought possible.

It was stupid... and would put the success of the mission at risk. If they were to be found out, there would be trouble. Trouble they could have avoided simply by holding still. But he didn't. John shifted his weight for a better footing and to relieve his legs. He rubbed his butt against the hard bulge. A sense of deep satisfaction flowed through John when Lestrade’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, the breath blowing against his neck faltering. Frustrated. Aroused. The hand slid off John's shoulder, slipping to his side, lingering in the air between John's hip and the back of the closet, as if to avoid contact.

John licked his lips. His shoulder was uncomfortably cool where the hand had previously rested. He trailed his hand over the back of Greg’s hand and put his palm on his hip, let it slide over the rough fabric of his jeans. With great difficulty, he stifled the trembling of his hand and the voice in his head that called him crazy, an idiot, a lunatic.

But Greg did not resist, did not shove his hand off, did not push John away. On the contrary. He was following John's lead, allowed him to push past his boundaries. He sucked in a breath and John twitched when teeth dug into his neck to muffle a sigh. Curious, Greg felt over the fabric that hid John's erection, followed the length of it with his fingers, gently rubbed his thumb over the bulge. John tensed involuntarily and Greg held his other hand over his mouth to stifle any sound, pulling John's head against his neck.

He sank his face against John's neck, ran the tip of his tongue tentatively over his skin, behind his ear, and sucked his earlobe into his mouth. Everything in John's head was spinning. Struggling between arousal and sheer self-control, unable to breathe or make a sound, he pressed against the man behind him, but the rustling of the fabric made too much noise, so he suppressed the urge to rub against him.

"I think... I think they're gone..." Greg whispered, taking his hand off John's mouth. Unwilling, John tried to peer through the gap between the wardrobe's doors to see if the two women were still in the bedroom. He could not see either of them, but the field of view from that angle was so limited he couldn’t see the whole room. They listened intently. In the distance, they heard people talking to each other, then closing a door. Silence. Slowly, John opened the door to look out. The room was empty. When he broke away from Greg, he was overcome with regret for a moment, but they couldn't hide in the wardrobe forever.

"What are you doing here?" John asked in a husky voice, still a bit shaky on his feet.

"I could ask you the same..." Greg replied, rubbing his neck. John shrugged. "Sherlock sent me to find information about Miss Adler for a case... Wait, aren't we working on the case together?"

"Obviously not. No, I'm also looking for information I suspect is in Miss Adler’s possession, but I don't have a search warrant because we have nothing against her... so this must stay between us, Watson.”  It felt very odd to be using surnames, considering, and Greg didn't miss the brief frown of his eyebrows, as if wondering if this was alright.

"Let's go... John."

They left the building together through the back door, climbed over a wall in the courtyard and were soon out of danger. On a street corner far enough from Irene Adler's apartment, they stopped. Greg's car was not far away.

"Okay... so..." Greg started. He didn't know how to finish the sentence. Maybe he should offer to drive John home. It would certainly feel right to do that. Friends help out friends. But... He looked at the blond man who had turned his face away to watch people in the distance, avoiding to look at him directly.

 _To yours or to mine...?_ Greg bit his lip. He felt responsible for the situation and he was completely overwhelmed by it. There was no denying that he had completely forgotten himself in the wardrobe up there for a moment. By God, he hadn't even heard the women leave the room! But could he... should he...

Then John looked at him. His blue eyes bore into his. A small smile played on his lips. When Greg smiled back, John moved closer to him. Not close enough that they touched, but close enough to blur the world around them.

"So, how big is your wardrobe?" John asked cheekily.

 

+++

End

 


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